


Across the Stars

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Chiss Culture (Star Wars), Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020, Friendship/Love, Gen, POV Eli Vanto, Planet Exegol (Star Wars), Pre-Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Problem-Solving, Reunions, Slashy Gen (or something like that), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eli Vanto is over fifty years old and enjoying a quiet retirement on the Chiss homeworld. Although he continues to grieve the lost, he has tried to move on.Then, one day, a remote listening post detects a mysterious, pulsed signal originating from somewhere deep within the Unknown Regions. Word of this signal reaches Eli by chance, and he understands immediately that it is a message intended solely for him…A message sent by a friend who has been presumed dead for decades.
Relationships: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo & Eli Vanto, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xenocuriosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenocuriosa/gifts).



At least he didn’t wake up shivering from the cold. As far as Eli Vanto was concerned, that was the best part of civilian life.

He’d become used to feeling cold pretty much all of the time. The Chiss species was adapted to a climate between seven to ten degrees below the Galactic Imperial median for humanity, and there was a point, during his lengthy tenure as the Chiss Defense Fleet’s sole human officer, that Eli had come, as near as not, to forgetting what it meant to be warm. Blue-tinged toes? Nope, not just for the Chiss! Even five-ply microweave stockings hadn’t succeeded in completely eliminating the discomfort.

Nowadays, though, that discomfort was a thing of the past. Most Chiss would consider residing atop one of Csilla’s geothermal vents intolerable. Some foul manner of masochistic punishment for some horrendous imagined misdeed against the Families, perhaps. For Eli, however, it was glorious. Plus, the humid heat was good for his sundry aches and pains.

Some of his esteemed former colleagues (Admiral Ar’alani, no, no, not to name names) did, granted, complain that their infrequent visits felt like being simultaneously boiled and slow-roasted. But if they left Eli to his own devices more often than not, well, Eli wasn’t young enough to care about such social trivialities anymore. By his own reckoning, after all, he was now over fifty Standard years old, of an age when he ought to be enjoying his well-earned honorable retirement. Comfort was paramount. Did he mention the aches and pains? Oh, and also? Vent-proximal real estate was ridiculously cheap, and this charming little cottage had been a _steal_.

The auto-kettle dinged, a wisp of white steam curling up from the spigot. Eli shuffled in slippered feet from his sleeping chamber to the canteen port. Joom tea wasn’t quite the caf of his youth, that was true, but after he’d gotten over the unsavory origin of the fungi-algal symbiote, he’d learned to appreciate the fragrant flavor and mild stimulant effects of the traditional breakfast beverage. It could be served either cold or hot—naturally, Eli preferred it hot—and had become an indispensable part of his morning routine.

As was his custom, Eli eased into the day with a generously-sized joom mug in one hand and a datapad in the other. Because news from beyond Chiss Ascendancy borders was hard to come by, he was permitted to maintain a Defense Fleet security clearance which provided him with regular intelligence with respect to the current political situation at home.

Not that he really considered the so-called New Republic home. That news was, ugh, the less said about that, the better. “Senate in sixth cycle of disarray, mass protests on Hosnian Prime continue…?” Eli muttered aloud to himself as he scanned the latest reports. Thanks but no thanks. He’d lived and worked and fought alongside the Chiss for over half his life. His friends were Chiss. His colleagues, too. And as for Thra—yes, well. Best not to think on it. That’d been over half a lifetime ago, speaking of over half his life. Anyways, suffice it to say that Csilla was more of a home to Eli than a galaxy in the thrall of an ineffectual, illegitimate government.

“Who needs organized dissent? They’re their own worst enemy,” he confided to no one in particular. “It would almost be comical if the galaxy weren’t at stake.” These were familiar complaints, rehearsed daily to his own two sympathetic ears alone, and he kind of enjoyed the recitation. This was just a spectator sport; Eli wasn’t a player anymore. “Corruption. Insecurity. Unrest.” He ticked each one off his mental list in turn. “I’m happier out of the game,” he added—and he almost made himself believe it.

In any event, he got so caught up in his armchair sociopolitical refereeing that he almost missed the last morning entry entirely.

Lowest priority. Should’ve been beneath notice. Nothing urgent or imminently actionable. Yet there was something…something that caught his eye and drew him back, that made him read it closely and in its entirety.

At first glance, it was just a brief report from one of the remote listening posts on the outskirts of Chiss Ascendancy space. They’d detected an unusual signal pattern: a series of eight rhythmic, sonic pulses, repeated every 5.9 seconds for almost 3 whole minutes. The origin could not be definitively ascertained. On the one hand, the worthy authors of the report noted, the signal might be so much cosmic noise, the pattern pure coincidence. But on the other, the signal might be intelligently designed, in which case the culture/planet/species of origin could not be identified.

Not by the Chiss, at any rate.

It’d never occurred to him to tell the story. Eli scratched behind his ear. Even after…everything, it’d been almost too silly to be worth mentioning. No, he supposed he’d never—

So it would be impossible. Of course the Chiss wouldn’t recognize what those eight pulses might potentially signify. No Chiss would, except for…except for…

Eli sat there for hours, unmoving. Staring, unseeing, at an empty wall. His datapad screen flickered and went dark. His joom tea, undrunk in his hand, went cold. The silence was a palpable weight, and it unfurled around him like a blanket, swaddling him within the softened folds in its memory. He was a million light years away.

Over half a lifetime ago.

In his mind, he could hear the music.

_🎵 No, dear heart, I won’t wander far._

“Thrawn,” Eli said.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, there was no other conclusion to be drawn, no other choice to be made.

If Eli’s personal finances in retirement weren’t necessarily lavish, well, they _were_ sound. He wasn’t a big spender; he’d been saving. Doing some small-time investing, even. His Lysatran parents had instructed him in the fine art of thrift. So, no, he hadn’t needed to beg.

And if he didn’t normally require a deep space vessel, well, when he did discover such a requirement, no one cared enough to suspect anything other than a pleasure voyage. Aliens were eccentric like that, and after everything, the Chiss had no cause to question his motives. His loyalty was beyond doubt.

Acquiring something suited to his requirements was easy. The ship’s name, translated from Cheunh, was _Silverbright_.

The region from which the eight-pulse signal was presumed to have originated was uncharted and was thought to contain any habitable systems. Eli, however, did not hesitate. He programmed his new ship’s navicomputer for travel in that direction and began exploring.

Space flight was muscle memory. At first, for the first several tendays, it was a whole lot of nothing. No surprises there. Eli was able and willing to be patient. And besides, it wasn’t like he’d had any more urgent matter demanding his attention on Csilla. He was a retiree with plenty of free time, wasn’t he? And speaking of the time—empty light year after empty light year certainly did give him plenty of extra time to reflect.

He had not shared his suspicions with anyone. He’d feared their mockery, their contempt. Senile, he imagined them saying with soft shakes of their dark-haired heads. Sentimental. Irrational. The aging alien wants to chase the shadow of a dream, a ghost. Truth be told, he’d feared their pity most of all.

To his own people, Thrawn was a tactical legend—and a martyr to faraway foreign war. The funeral had been witnessed by millions; Admiral Ar’alani had given a stirring eulogy. But however much they revered his memory in principle, alas, there were few who yet lived who’d actually known him in person.

Eli happened to be one of those privileged few.

One who’d known Thrawn better than most.

***

“Although the origins of the _dukk’quist_ are shrouded in the frozen mists of prehistory, unequivocal archeological evidence has revealed that primitive technological antecedents with one, three, and four _tarq_ were in use a minimum of seventy-five millennia before the Ascendency. The modern configuration, with sixteen _tarq_ , accords to a standard first developed by the inventor Haiehv’oeh’maittou during the Late Warring Families period. This _voehm_ system _dukk’quist_ has been the popular standard for an unbroken eleven thousand years, and it is the form which I have endeavored to reproduce.”

Thrawn stepped aside so that Eli might inspect the _dukk’quist_ more closely. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a spoon…if a spoon were as black as obsidian and stood vertically on its handle, that is, and as tall as an average man. There were no strings, no keys, no tone holes, no obvious percussive areas. It was, in short, like no musical instrument Eli had ever seen before.

“The sensual properties of the _tarq_ can be neither reproduced nor recorded with fidelity by any other known technology,” Thrawn continued in an ecstasy of erudite explanation. “For this reason, the _dukk’quist_ can only be experienced in person. Each instrument is unique. Each player’s technique, likewise. Thus is each performance one-of-a-kind and, given the modest size of the _dukk’quist_ , the most intimate and sacred of exchanges between player and receptor.”

“Where do the _tarq_ …?” Eli began.

“Ah yes, the _dukk’quist_ needs to be switched on,” Thrawn said. “Here, let me.” He gestured subtly.

Eli couldn’t quite tell what Thrawn had done, but the effect was unmistakable. Colored light began to shine out from the concave surface of the “spoon,” vivid and bright—twenty different hues that Eli struggled to assign names to. Not yellow but citron gold. Not blue but aquamarine. Not red but dusty pink. Not green but…but…but no, he didn’t have the words, couldn’t focus on the requisite vocabulary. Because, yeah, that light? _That light was also singing._

Thrawn was still speaking. “The _tarq_ are produced when the crystals are energized, the properties of each resting frequency determined by the cut and angle of their placement. Mastery of that craft requires a lifetime of training, and bespoke techniques are jealously guarded by the manufacturing guilds. Alas, I have not been given the luxury of such a specialist education, and you must forgive me, Commander Vanto, for I am afraid that my poor efforts to tune the _dukk’quist_ properly may have fallen somewhat short…”

Eli’s attention strayed from Thrawn’s apologia as he approached the _dukk’quist_ and let the _tarq_ begin to wash directly over him. Sixteen discrete waves of synaesthetic energy capable of triggering both the visual and auditory sensory apparatuses simultaneously: a bath of light and sound.

Which might be manipulated to exquisite aesthetic effect. Eli could already recognize that, and no one was actively playing the _dukk’quist_ yet.

“Bending and blending the _tarq_ requires these gloves.” Thrawn was indeed wearing gloves, Eli saw. He hadn’t noticed earlier. The gloves were almost completely transparent. “The material is woven with _sanf_ plant fibers. _Sanf_ is naturally polarized and weakly attractive to the _tarq_. You will need to use the spaces between your fingers, especially here, here, here, here,” Thrawn said, indicating the joints of Eli’s finger bones as he surrendered the gloves for Eli to put on.

They fit Eli’s hands like they were made for him. Come to think of it, knowing Thrawn, they probably had been. He raised his right hand, fingers splayed wide to allow four of the _tarqs_ to flow through the gaps. Thrawn’s avowed lack of manufacturing expertise aside, they lined up nicely. Hmm.

Eli wiggled his fingers. The colors of the _tarq_ changed, and so did the pitches. Cooler tones, higher frequencies. Eli wiggled his fingers in the opposite direction. Color and pitch changed again, warmer and lower this time. Hmm. The analytical aspect of Eli’s mind kicked into gear. More experimentation. More changes. Yeah, okay, Eli thought he might be getting the hang of playing the _dukk’quist_. Really, the rudiments seemed quite intuitive.

You know, maybe he could even play a tune. The refrain of an old Lysatran folk song, perhaps, the one about the explorer and his lover. He sang the lyrics silently to himself and found them unexpectedly fresh in his memory. Yeah, okay, that ought to be easy enough. If this unmanipulated _tarq_ became the reference tone, then—a whole step up, a half step down—then three steps—two, one—

“Beautiful.”

Thrawn was behind Eli, standing so close that he could feel Thrawn’s body heat against his back, straight through the sturdy layers of both their Imperial uniforms. Thrawn was trying to experience the _tarq_ from Eli’s point of view, and he was practically resting his chin on Eli’s shoulder. The gentle puff of the breath carrying that murmured word rustled the short hairs behind Eli’s tear. It tickled him.

Reflexively, Eli touched the ticklish spot. The music stopped—

***

—and Eli was jolted out of his reverie when the navicomputer brought the ship to an abrupt halt, hazard alert shrill with displeasure. An asteroid field wracked by the blood red clouds of supercharged plasma nebulae had hoved into view. To Eli’s untrained eye, it looked like the graveyard of a solar system whose sun had gone supernova. Or maybe not. Not that it mattered. Whatever it was, it was _huge_. Too large to be scanned. So he couldn’t fly around it, and he couldn’t fly through it. The terrain was impassable.

Eli ground his teeth in frustration. Dammit! There could be no mistake. The signal had originated from somewhere within or beyond this asteroid field. He’d come this far. Had his quest reached a foreshortened end?

He was wallowing so deeply in disappointment that he almost missed the incoming comm transmission: “Unknown vessel: Identify yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

No visual, only audio. But the language was Basic, with an impeccable Core Worlds accent. Way out here! It beggared belief. For a moment, Eli was so shocked that he didn’t respond.

“Unknown vessel: Identify yourself,” the voice repeated. “Identify yourself immediately or face destruction.”

His sensors couldn’t get a fix on the other ship. It must be hiding somewhere in the asteroid field. If it decided to launch an attack, Eli would never even know what hit him.

An easy choice, then. “Eli Vanto, captain and sole member of the civilian crew of the _Silverbright_.”

The voice on the other end of the comm didn’t miss a beat. “Prepare to be boarded, Eli Vanto. Do not attempt to resist. That’s an order.”

It never occurred to Eli to disobey…not after he saw the Lambda-class shuttle emerge from a swirl of sparkling crimson.

***

She wore a dark, hooded cloak with no visible rank insignia. She was human and not a child, and she did not offer him her name. Nevertheless, Eli recognized the woman immediately for what she was: _ozyly-esehembo_. Sky-walker. A Navigator. She possessed what the Chiss called the Third Sight. What others throughout the galaxy called the Force.

She’d already searched his ship and found nothing of interest apart from Eli himself. Now he had her undivided attention. “You will abandon your vessel, Eli Vanto, and I will ferry you onward,” the woman said. Her inscrutable expression broached no disobedience.

Well, it made a bizarre sort of sense. Those Lambda-class shuttles were difficult to fly without a copilot, or at least they had been in Eli’s Imperial Navy days, and like him, she seemed to be alone. He figured she’d have needed the Sight to make it safely through those asteroids.

What wasn’t clear was how they’d even managed to meet. Was she part of a regular patrol? But Eli knew of no settlements anywhere within a thousand light years, and it was odd for a patrol not to consist of a team. Or…had she been expecting him? Had someone sent her? Eli’s heart pounded. Sternly, he told himself he dare not hope.

“Who sent you? Whom do you serve?” Eli asked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used his mother tongue with another living being. Speaking Basic felt so awkward and strange!

The woman didn’t bother replying. It was as if he’d never spoken. Oh well, it’d been worth a try. Eli followed the fluttering hem of her cloak into the cockpit of her shuttle, took a seat, and strapped himself in.

“Oh, I should mention,” he said to the woman, with deliberately calibrated lightness, just a scatterbrained, middle-aged man, nothing to be concerned about, “the _Silverbright_ doesn’t belong to me. It will need to be returned to the Chiss Ascendancy. I’ve already set the autopilot to—”

The _Silverbright_ exploded. A point-blank torpedo hit. Eli winced and swallowed a nervous laugh. He’d been half-expecting that. “Easy come, easy go, I suppose.”

The woman ignored him and fired up the shuttle’s hyperspace drive.

Eli had also been half-expecting the woman to knock him out with the Force. Or perhaps put a bag over his head. But she did neither of those things, and after a few minutes of watching her fly, he could see why she hadn’t bothered. Even if he _had_ known where they were going, he wasn’t an _ozyly-esehembo_. By himself, he’d never be able to reconstruct her flight plan. Never mind pilot it.

“So where did you say we’re going again?”

The woman ignored him. He thought he was beginning to detect a pattern to their interactions.

Soon enough, though, Eli was able to see their final destination with his own eyes. Hidden within the asteroid field was a rogue planet, hanging stationary in the vacuum of space, having long ago escaped orbit of its sun. Save the jagged forks of blue-white lightning, the gloom was total. Indeed, the sphere was wracked by ion storms which entirely concealed the surface topography.

They began their descent into the gravity well. The shuttle shook and bumped and lurched, and each jolt caused Eli’s teeth to rattle in his skull. He clenched his jaw tight and hoped the shuttle would hold itself together.

“Whoever lives here must really, _really_ not want to be found,” Eli said. As usual, he was ignored.

The shuttle did hold together, thankfully, and dropped into a canyon, where it was sheltered from the worst of the ion storms. They then followed the contours of a dry riverbed for several kilometers before dropping even further below-ground to a hidden docking bay. Or, at least that was what Eli _thought_ was behind those blast doors, if those _were_ doors. Everything was so damn dark that it was hard to tell. And the interior of the docking bay was as gloomy as the planet. Without even the momentary flashes of lightning to assist him, he could just make out the vaguest suggestions of the outlines of other ships.

“Do you people have something against light?”

The woman’s only response was to engage the landing pads.

Eli disembarked first, with the woman right behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other placed firmly against the small of his back. Though she probably meant it as a warning, Eli had no intention of trying anything stupid. He’d made it this far; he promised himself he’d see this through till the end.

Whatever end that was.

They passed through another set of doors and halted. “We wait,” the woman said. The doors slid shut behind them a soft thump. Eli exhaled. Another set of doors directly ahead slid open, a metallic, mechanical whirr. Eli inhaled. The corridor ahead was flooded with low, muted light. Eli blinked.

A lone figure was striding towards them, red eyed gaze locked onto Eli’s. “Thank you for your service, Mistress. I can take our guest from here.”


	4. Chapter 4

Alive. He was _alive_.

The music.

_🎵 And when I return…_

“Thrawn, I-I—” Eli choked on his own words, his heart caught in his throat.

“Guest quarters have been prepared for your arrival, should you wish to rest after such a long and arduous journey,” Thrawn interrupted smoothly. “If you will permit me to escort you…?”

These were banal niceties, spoken in Basic, and impeccably delivered. This was not Thrawn’s usual modus operandi. At least, it didn’t used to be. But then, Eli wasn’t the same as he’d used to be either. Okay, so maybe Thrawn had changed, or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe it wasn’t safe to talk openly. Whichever it was, Eli decided he’d take the hint. “I’d be most grateful,” he replied, also in Basic, with equal, empty formality.

Thrawn nodded. “This way.”

The guest quarters were small, the furnishings austere but serviceable: a neatly made single bed, a bedside table, a small chest set into one wall, and two straight-backed chairs. The sole source of light was recessed into the floor, and the yellow glow it cast upwards along the walls did little to banish the shadows. It was private, though, and warm, and with the door sealed, the silence was total. He and Thrawn might have been the only two beings left alive in all the universe. Overall, Eli decided, the effect was less a naval officer’s private berth and more a monk’s cell. Hmm. How interesting.

Thrawn sat down in one of the chairs. “You have questions,” he said. It was a statement of fact, because this was Thrawn, and of course Thrawn was right.

Also, he’d switched from Basic to Cheunh. That was significant, and Eli took it as a sign that he ought to switch to Cheunh as well. Were they being secretly monitored? He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. Yeah, okay. “You sent that pulsed signal to Csilla,” he said at last, weirdly relieved not to have to use Basic anymore, “and I was meant to receive it.” He figured this was as good a place to start as any.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed. Too obvious. “You already knew that.”

“Yes, I did,” Eli admitted with a shrug. “And I knew it was meant for me and me alone. You knew I would be the only one to understand the significance.” He paused, hesitating. “But…”

“But?”

“I have absolutely no idea why you would want me here, or what ‘here’ even is, and nothing I’ve seen has improved my understanding.”

“I would expect your understanding to improve as you acclimate.”

“I see. Is this supposed to be a test?”

“Of a kind. Yes, you could say that I am testing you.”

Deductive games. _Again._ Would Thrawn ever lose his passion them? Eli heaved a hard sigh as he sank down into the other chair across from Thrawn. He gave him a good once-over. Thrawn was wearing high-status military dress, of unknown affiliation. Otherwise, though, he hadn’t aged a day. His skin was firm and unblemished, his eyes unclouded, his hair untouched by gray. The Chiss weren’t human and their vigor was not to be judged by human standards, Eli knew, but this was unreal.

Eli felt a sudden, unanticipated stab of resentment. After all these years…he’d thought he’d made his peace with loss. He thought he’d moved on. Yet here Thrawn was, picking up where they’d left off like no time had passed whatsoever. Eli wasn’t a young man anymore; did he really wish for Thrawn’s games to consume him once more? He scrubbed the palms of his hands over his face as old, pent up frustrations resurfaced. “We assumed you were dead, you know. But you weren’t. And if you weren’t, then surely you must have heard what was happening!” The volume of Eli’s voice rose. He’d thought he’d succeeded in letting go of the grief, the anger. Apparently not. “Gods, Thrawn, where were you?! Your people needed you! The war—a quarter of the Fleet was—I did everything I could, but it wasn’t—”

“You led the Chiss to a great victory, Admiral Eli’van’to. Now there is peace.”

Ah, so Thrawn _did_ know something of what had transpired. Somehow, Eli fumed, that revelation just made everything so much worse. “An uneasy, fragile peace,” he shouted, “at the cost of billions of innocent lives! _Your_ people’s lives! As things stand, the Chiss Ascendancy will not survive another attack!” Eli took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. This wasn’t how he’d imagined their reunion would go when he’d hired the _Silverbright_. “Not of a similar magnitude, at any rate. I don’t understand how you could believe that one victory excuses your absence. Thrawn, _where were you?!_ ”

Thrawn rose from his chair and began to pace. The heels of his boots clicked against the polished stone floor. Eli waited, eyes moist, chest heaving, but the minutes stretched, and Thrawn divulged nothing. It was as if he were measuring his response with each deliberate step.

Finally, he stopped pacing. His gaze was turned away from Eli’s. Unfocused, faraway. And when he spoke, his words were heavy with an uncharacteristic hesitancy. “Much remains which I cannot remember. I…I was lost.”

“Lost?” Eli echoed. He didn’t understand.

But Thrawn did not deign to clarify. “Then I was reminded of my purpose,” he continued, heedless of Eli’s confusion. “I have a sworn responsibility to your people and your Empire.”

A bark of bitter laughter exploded from Eli’s lips. A dull ache bloomed in his chest. “There isn’t any Galactic Empire anymore, Thrawn. It’s over. Betrayed. Destroyed by Rebels. And the Emperor? Palpatine perished over Endor—”

“No, he did not.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He did not perish.”

“W-what—what do you mean, the Emperor didn’t per—” Eli choked as it sank in, what Thrawn had said. He forgot to breathe.

Thrawn’s face shone brighter than any light Eli had yet seen on this strange, dark planet. “Yes. Emperor Palpatine lives. His supporters have been biding their time in secret here on Exegol, but that time of exile is nearly finished. Soon, his forces will be in a position to retake the galaxy. The lasting peace that was promised—it’s not too late.”


	5. Chapter 5

Thrawn had been called away. Eli was left to his own devices.

He considered remaining in his quarters but quickly dismissed the possibility. Boredom was a luxury of retirement, true, but the monk’s cell to which he’d been assigned was just a bit _too_ boring for his tastes. And besides, he wasn’t a prisoner; Thrawn had told that _ozyly-esehembo_ right in front of him that he was a guest. “This guest wants to know why he’s here,” Eli grumbled aloud to himself in his most cranky voice, “and if the answers are to be learned anywhere, they’re most likely to be learned out there.”

There wasn’t much to see “out there,” or so it seemed at first. Eli didn’t have a map or a tour guide handy, and the many other living beings he encountered acted like he didn’t exist. They were all human, and of various ages and physical types, but they all wore the same stony, stoic expression and style of uniform. Eli, who was neither in stoic form nor in uniform, figured he’d better not push his luck. They seemed to accept his presence without question; he didn’t want to give them any reason to change their minds.

He passed through living areas, canteens, training halls, and storage hangars. The corridors went on and on and on, a tangled network spreading out in every direction, never seeming to reach any terminus. The scale was absolutely enormous, the ambition staggering. The entire planet was teeming with human life numbering in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, and as best Eli could tell, all of those lives were committed to a single purpose: retaking the galaxy for the Empire.

And every last bit of this purpose was hidden underground, thereby rendered invisible to short-range surface scans. The constant ion storms above and the asteroid field beyond provided even more security from long-range sensors. Eli couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of secrecy involved, and the disciplined order required to maintain that secrecy. The New Republic would never see the danger coming until it was too late.

Order, power…and paranoia. These were the hallmarks of Emperor Palpatine’s reign. There could be no doubt. This was the work of his hand.

Notable, however, was the complete absence of any ships larger than the Lambda-class shuttle upon which he’d arrived. They’d need tens of thousands of warships to have a prayer of success—so where were they docked? What was the composition of the fleet? How, and how well, were the ships equipped? He was perplexed by the mystery.

Driven by curiosity (and nothing more constructive to occupy his mind), Eli continued his explorations, working his way slowly but surely upwards, towards the surface. If the ships were anywhere, he figured close to the surface was where they would be found.

But he didn’t find the ships. Instead, he found something he hadn’t expected.

He found ancient ruins. Of a crypt, perhaps, or a temple. Or both? No artificial lighting was installed anywhere within half a kilometer of the surface—more secrecy—and the architectural details were difficult to make out in the gloom. But Eli thought he saw columns, bas-reliefs, the faint outlines of colossal statues looming impossibly high overhead. Ominous grandeur. Dust hung thick in the air. This was the pinnacle of some civilization or other, fallen long ago but memorialized still in awe-inspiring halls of crumbling, carven stone. Eli wandered through the ruins, aimless and agape, like a farm boy on his very first trip into the city. He felt insignificant and small.

As he proceeded further into the ruins, he began to hear faint chanting in the distance, hollow and haunted. It echoed off of the walls and floors and ceilings. Although he wasn’t certain, he didn’t think he recognized the language. So these ruins weren’t abandoned after all! Perhaps they were being used for religious services? Or performance art? Intrigued, Eli headed in the direction of the sounds. He passed through a narrow, rectangular opening cut into solid rock and found himself on what, he quickly realized, was the balcony of a giant, open-air amphitheater.

A flash of lightning illuminated the space. A light pitter-patter of rain was beginning to fall. Eli saw a sunken stage surrounded by row after row after row of stepped risers. Like everything else he’d encountered on Exegol thus far, the scale was impressive. There was seating enough here for tens of thousands of individuals, though at the moment they were empty. The same could not be said of the dais at the center of the amphitheater, however. A group of hooded, cloaked figures, a dozen or so, stood in a circle, chanting in unison around an altar.

There was a lump of something on the altar. Was it an offering? No…

Eli’s hair stood on end, and something tickled his nostrils; he told himself it was just excess ozone in the atmosphere. Another sharp crack of lightning, and he knew, _saw_ : The thing on the altar was a naked body, lying on its side, in a fetal position. The flesh was pallid; it looked dead.

The chanting continued, rising in volume and becoming more excited, more urgent. The figures were swaying rhythmically from side to side. Their cloaks swirled in the wind. Eli was reminded of the _ozyly-esehembo_ who’d flown him to the planet—she’d been dressed like that. He wondered if one of those figures before the altar was the woman, and he wondered if the rest of those figures possessed powers like her…

A barrage of lightning bolts and deafening crashes of thunder assaulted the sky overhead. Despite the rain falling in earnest now, soaking Eli’s skin through his clothes, chilling him to the bone and making him shiver, the amphitheater was almost as bright as high noon. Meanwhile, the chanting was reaching a crescendo, becoming a shout, a roar, a deafening scream, as if issuing from a single, gargantuan throat. And on the altar…

_The body jerked and sat up._

It was alive! Eli clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a gasp. The body belonged undeniably to a man. It was large and long-limbed, and yet it did not look at all like an ordinary man. The skull was bald, the cheekbones sunken in. And where before its flesh had appeared cold and dead, now its skin was mottled, raw, and red, like a newborn babe’s.

Abruptly, the chanting ceased. The storm was receding. But there was one last, parting flash of lightning, and Eli could not have failed to see:

When one of the hooded figures lifted his (her?) arm to the sky, the body on the altar, wet and shiny from the rain, did likewise.


	6. Chapter 6

Eli had borne witness to something he suspected that he wasn’t supposed to see. Something downright disturbing. Frightening. And given the circumstances, he took the only logical course of action immediately available to him: He fled the scene.

Thankfully, he wasn’t pursued. He made it back to his guest quarters unmolested and secured the door behind him.

A carafe of water and a couple of protein rations had been laid out for him at some point during his absence. Otherwise, the room appeared undisturbed. Eli sniffed the water and sipped it cautiously. He could not detect any contamination. Same with the protein bars—they had the chewy, chalky texture of protein rations everywhere. He took a bite, then another, and another, and another. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been. He took another drink of water.

What he’d seen in those ruins—shocking. That body. It’d been dead…until it wasn’t. Until it had moved. And when it did move, it had looked like a marionette on invisible strings. Alive, in other words, but not in control of itself…which, if he’d truly seen what he thought he’d seen, meant that…meant that…

There were people on Exegol who could revive the dead. And control them. And that in turn, _that_ meant…

Thrawn had said Palpatine was alive, that he had not perished over Endor as Eli—as everyone throughout the galaxy—had always believed. But what if Palpatine _had_ perished…? What if these people…what if they’d…?

Oh. Oh, _hells_. The last bite of protein ration turned to ashes in Eli’s mouth. What about _Thrawn_? Hadn’t they always believed that Thrawn too had perished? Thrawn had said that he’d been lost, that he couldn’t remember. Perhaps it was no coincidence. Perhaps his memory loss had been deliberate. What if these people had revived Thrawn in order to control him? Worse: What if Thrawn wasn’t really Thrawn?! And how would Eli be able to tell the difference??

Eli reviewed his memories of their reunion. Thrawn had seemed well enough. If anything, Eli had envied his self-evident good health. Also, Thrawn had remembered Eli’s song and its significance to their working relationship. That wasn’t something any random being would know. In fact, he’d always assumed it’d been a private matter, just between him and Thrawn…

***

Problem was, he resented it. It really was that simple.

Thrawn’s appetite for cultural artifacts was positively insatiable. He devoured art, literature, and music like nerfs devoured bluegrass. Anything and everything might someday provide tactical benefit against a future enemy, and Thrawn was willing to pass up on none of it. Thrawn therefore mastered the cultures of a thousand systems, and Eli watched him doing it with an intensely-felt mixture of awestruck appreciation…and profound _irritation_.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. “You know more about the Twi’leks of Ryloth than the Twi’leks themselves,” he remarked to Thrawn one day, with feigned casualness, “but no one knows the first thing about the Chiss. Hells, most of the time they mistake you for a Pantoran. I’m not sure I…” Eli paused, fumbling perhaps too late for a measure of tact. “I guess it makes me a little uncomfortable.”

Thrawn cut straight to the chase with his reply. Tact just wasn’t his style. “I see. You do not appreciate the asymmetry of my interactions when these societies.”

Eli deflated a bit. He was glad Thrawn wasn’t one to easily take offense. “Something like that.”

“And how should I rectify this situation, Commander Vanto? What would you like me to do?”

Hmm, Eli hadn’t expected Thrawn to listen to his feelings. It put him off-balance, and he tried to lighten the mood. “Cultural exchange? Maybe someone from the Empire could go live and work with the Chiss in order to learn about them.” He meant it as a jest.

But of course Thrawn wasn’t one for jokes either. “That is not something which can be arranged by myself alone, and regrettably many Chiss are quite intolerant of outsiders. There would also be security concerns. No, it would not be feasible, not at present. But perhaps…”

Eli dismissed the prospect with a swift shake of his head. If Thrawn was going to take this seriously, he ought to do the same and proffer some reasonable suggestions. “How about a story or two? Or some music?” he tried. “I know these things have given you great insights into other cultures, but most people don’t have anything approaching your talents in this respect, let’s be real. Gods know I certainly don’t have—”

“Yes, I believe that would be acceptable,” Thrawn interrupted. “A constrained dissemination of some minor aspect of cultural knowledge would not require bureaucratic consent from the Aristocra. And though you consistently underestimate your own interpretive, extrapolative, and deductive skillsets”—here, Thrawn narrowed his eyes at Eli, as if to emphasize his point—“I do not believe that you represent a security risk to the Chiss Ascendancy. In fact, I believe that, should you become familiarized with certain aspects of Chiss culture, there are benefits which may accrue to both our peoples in this regard.”

Eli blinked. Okay, now he was beyond surprised.

“A _dukk’quist_ ought to suit our purposes,” Thrawn said decisively. “But they cannot be exported, alas. I would need to source the requisite materials to assemble one myself…” Thrawn tapped the nearest data console, seeking answers to what was undoubtedly a complex series of logistical questions that he had not bothered to pose aloud. He always behaved like this when he was tackling a new project, infused with newfound energy and determination. Eli admired Thrawn most in such moments.

“So, uhh, what’s a…a _dukk’quist_?” Eli pronounced the unfamiliar word in his best Cheunh.

***

Originally, the _dukk’quist_ had been intended as a tool to teach Eli something about Chiss culture. But upon presentation to Eli it became something else entirely: proof that cooperation between the species was possible, that human and Chiss together might create something new and beautiful. Something greater than the sum of its parts.

The door to Eli’s room slid open. Thrawn had returned. “Shall we resume our discussion?” he asked.


	7. Chapter 7

“Who _are_ these people, and how did they find you? Did they _do_ anything to you?”

Thrawn’s lips thinned. A sign of disapproval. These weren’t the questions he wanted to be asked, Eli knew, but to be perfectly honest, for the present Eli just didn’t care.

He forged on. “I went exploring while you were gone. Took it upon myself to have a look around. The people, the resources, the level of organization—it’s all very, very impressive, and I…” He was speaking too fast, practically tripping over his own words. He stopped. Tried again. “I went looking for the fleet near to the surface and wandered into some ancient ruins. I saw…” He gulped. Took a deep breath. Steady on, he told himself. “I saw people there. They were standing around an altar and chanting. And there was this dead body on the altar, except that it didn’t stay dead. It…it was—”

“Irrelevant.”

Eli gaped. Reviving the dead, irrelevant?! Since when, exactly?! “Thrawn, you—”

“I am the reason why you are here. _I_ was the one who summoned you. I have always valued your insight. However,” Thrawn’s red eyes glinted, a dangerous light, “you give me occasion to wonder if perhaps my memory in this regard is also faulty, or if perhaps your age has dulled your abilities. You resigned your appointment to the Chiss Defense Fleet Admiralty—an honor never before conferred upon a non-Chiss. Was this because you deemed yourself past your prime?”

Eli’s chest filled with heat. He felt buzzy, lightheaded with outrage. Yes, okay, fine. No, he wasn’t young anymore, and until recently he’d been enjoying his retirement. So what?! So what if the position he’d achieved had been unheard of?! It’d been well-earned. And he’d given up both family and nation to serve! Hadn’t those decades of service earned him _anything_?! “I-I…” he sputtered.

“The Eli Vanto I used to know would have figured out why he was here by now,” Thrawn said, his tone of voice emotionless, frigid.

 _Well._ If Eli had thought he was angry _before_! How dare _he_ question Eli’s competence?! _Eli_ wasn’t the one who’d reappeared out of seemingly nowhere after having been presumed deceased! _Eli_ wasn’t the one who’d missed not one but _two_ whole wars! “That’s obvious, isn’t it?” he snapped. “You need my help with something, Gods know what. Isn’t that how it’s always been between us? And yet, when I try to tell you that I’ve seen something I deem important, something very important, indeed, you shut me down with insults!”

Thrawn’s gaze flickered. It was almost apologetic…or as close as Thrawn ever came to admitting he’d been wrong about anything. “I intended no insult. But I did mean it when I said I am not interested in hearing about what you have seen.”

Ah yes. He’d forgotten how insanely frustrating Thrawn could be; the long absence had truly made the heart grow fonder, as the saying went. Eli threw up his arms in disgust. “Then it sure does sound like I can’t help you.”

“On the contrary. I am no less convinced than I ever was that you can.”

“Bantha poodoo.” It felt good to curse in Huttese. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Probably not since he’d started working alongside Thrawn, come to think of it. Eli rolled his eyes at the realization. Thrawn always did have a knack for coaxing the most vivid expletives out of him. “If you aren’t interested in what I’ve seen on Exegol, then I suppose you want to hear aaall about the stuff I _haven’t_?”

He stopped. Oh. Of course. Of course! It should have been obvious.

Thrawn said nothing. He didn’t need to.

“The ships,” Eli breathed. “I didn’t see any ships. The fleet this installation and its people serves must be enormous. Where are the ships? Did something happen? Is there something wrong with them?”

***

There were thousands of Star Destroyers hidden inside the rogue planet’s ion storms. Literally thousands.

“You should remember our arguments. I took the view that a single battle station with a planet-destroying weapon wouldn’t be a source of security for the galaxy. Instead, it would become an irresistible target and thus a liability. And it was as I had predicted: A single, lucky shot was enough to take the Death Star out and cripple the Empire. Exactly as I had warned would happen.”

The interior of the _Obfuscator_ was laid out in late Imperial style, right down to the dimensions of the corridors and the placement of the comms and control consoles. Thrawn had taken Eli straight to the bridge, and crossing elevated command deck was more than a little like strolling back in time. The officers, though properly deferential to both men, seemed familiar with Thrawn. Was the _Obfuscator_ his flagship? Vaguely, Eli wondered if the name was an homage to the _Chimaera_.

“Fortunately, the Emperor eventually came to appreciate my perspective,” Thrawn continued. “Offensive potential, if sufficiently overwhelming, may have a deterrent effect—provided that this potential is intelligently distributed. New developments in weapons systems design over the past decade have been truly remarkable. Thanks to these technological advancements, each and every ship in this fleet possesses the capacity to deter uprisings in the system where they are stationed. Where the Death Star made Imperial power a weakness, this fleet will transform it into a compounded strength.”

“Impressive,” Eli muttered. And it was. It really, really was. “But why do you need me for the show-and-tell?”

“I’m getting to that. You see, one rather intractable problem with respect to the new weapons system has yet to be solved.”


	8. Chapter 8

The superweapons weren’t working.

Or, rather, they did work. At least as best anyone could tell. They just didn’t work as intended. Problem was, firing one of the weapons even once invariably destroyed the ship that had fired it. This in turn had the effect, naturally, of killing everyone aboard. According to Thrawn, three star destroyers and tens of thousands of lives had already been lost to this particular discovery.

“Mutually assured destruction is fundamentally incompatible with absolute victory.”

“You don’t say.”

Eli sighed and stared down towards the laser-focusing arrays. There were four of them, built into the ship’s hull in a single line along an invisible vertical axis spanning bow to stern. Each was a sixth of a kilometer in diameter. When the beams of all four lasers were overlapped, the plasma energies produced by the main cannon were awesomely destructive. The power was enough to cause stars to go nova, enough to reduce entire planets to space rubble.

And it was more than enough to reduce the ship firing the weapon—and every soul on that ship—to its constituent atoms.

“They’re big,” Eli said. “You can tell they pack a lot of firepower.” He didn’t have much else to add. Truth be told, he wasn’t even certain what he was supposed to be seeing. It wasn’t like he was a weapons specialist or anything.

“They are nowhere near as big as the laser that was installed on the Death Stars, but that design would have been much too unwieldy for an individual ship. These,” Thrawn gestured idly out of the same maintenance viewport through which Eli was peering, “are hardly better than conventional laser cannons when fired individually. The sympathetic interactions between each separate component are what creates a superweapon. Those interactions alter the fundamental frequency of the resultant plasma burst into one that breaks virtually every known atomic and molecular bond—”

“And what breaks the enemy also breaks us,” Eli finished. He understood that much.

“Yes. Correct.”

Eli shook his head, dismayed. “Quite the thing to overlook during the developmental phase, don’t you think?”

“The oversight is understandable. The lasers’ crystalline cores are made of kyber, and kyber has never been observed to behave in this fashion.”

“Kyber? Aren’t kyber crystals what those Jedi wizards used to put in their light-swords or whatever they were called?” After what he’d seen in those ruins, Eli’d had weird, mystic cults on his mind a lot lately. He figured that was only understandable.

“The armaments which you refer to as ‘light-swords’ are properly known as lightsabers. Yes.” Thrawn _would_ know to the answer to that question.

“I see.” Eli wasn’t sure what to make of that. Come to think of it, though, there was something…hmm. He squinted harder out of the viewport. How odd: The laser-focusing arrays did look rather like _tarq_ on a gargantuan _dukk’quist_. And as for how the destructive beam shot from the main cannon was produced—sympathetic interactions between separate components—this also seemed familiar. “Do you think…” Eli hesitated. No, the idea was silly.

“Do I think what?” Thrawn asked.

“No, I—”

“Please continue.”

Eli shrugged. Silly was silly, not dangerous. What was the harm? “Yeah, okay, so I was thinking: What if the laser-focusing arrays are like the _tarq_ of a _dukk’quist_? What if they need to be…oh, what’s the right word…? Tuned? Yes, tuned. Tuned in order to create a less wantonly destructive frequency?”

To Eli’s surprise, Thrawn gave his idea serious consideration. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “ ‘And when I return, I will fly you across the stars.’ I can see that I made the right decision.”

“W-what?” Eli bleated. Those were the—but no, he would have sworn he’d never taught—

Thrawn continued, ignoring Eli’s discomfiture. “I was not involved in the design of the weapon; the issue you raise had not previously occurred to me. Unfortunately, kyber’s innate properties are a function of the microscopic symbiotes living within the crystal matrices. Cutting or heating the kyber, for example, as one might with other kinds of useful crystals to alter their properties, would have no effect. Even a master _dukk’quist_ fabricator could not tune the kyber crystals in these lasers.”

“Is there anyone who can?” Eli had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer to that question.

“Yes. Come with me. We shall need to speak to the Emperor’s attendants.”

Which was exactly what Eli had been expecting.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m going to say it one last time. You don’t need to be there.” The whole situation was starting to make Eli feel sick to his stomach. “Why take the risk? There is nothing to be gained from failure.”

“A warrior has his honor to consider. I would not ask your people to take risks that I myself would not. I made the proposal; it is therefore my obligation to see this gambit through to its conclusion.”

Eli couldn’t check the current status of his complexion—and neither could Thrawn, not via the blue-tinged holoprojection through which they were remote-comming—but he suspected that his face was turning a sickly shade of green. He felt nauseous, lightheaded. By Thrawn’s own logic, it was really Eli, not Thrawn, who ought to be the one aboard the _Obfuscator_ while Thrawn, not Eli, sat in the safety of one of Exegol’s many strategic command bunkers. Because, well, yes, Thrawn had made the proposal, but he’d only done so after Eli had planted the seed of the idea in the first place.

The group of hooded figures Eli had seen in the ruins were the ones whom Thrawn referred to as the Emperor’s attendants. And as Eli had suspected, the woman who had ferried him through the asteroid field to Exegol was indeed one of their number. Precisely how they “attended” Emperor Palpatine went (thankfully, from Eli’s point of view) unelucidated, but they were all strong in the Force and capable, or so they claimed, of influencing the symbiotes living within the kyber crystals in order to change the fundamental frequency of the energies produced by the weapon.

Thrawn and Eli had assisted with the theoretical groundwork where they were able, but putting theory into practice presented a whole slew of new logistical challenges. The worst of these was that there was no way to know if the weapon was properly in tune until it was actually fired. (“Why not?” Eli had asked. “How do you know if a musical instrument is in tune without playing it first?” Thrawn had replied.) Any error would be fatal…and not just for the ship’s crew. The effort would require the talents of all of Palpatine’s attendants, and the attendants would need to be in close proximity to the laser-focusing arrays while the weapon was being fired. If they did not succeed in adjusting the kyber crystals during a very brief temporal window of opportunity, they, too, would perish.

Eli gulped, coughed, cleared his throat. “And if you don’t make it…?”

“In the event of my demise, I have left written instructions. I have asked that you be made my replacement on Exegol. You will be a valuable asset to the cause.”

Eli may have wanted to point out that he’d never agreed to being anyone’s “asset” on Exegol, let alone Thrawn’s replacement. He may have wanted to point out that, apart from providing expertise in military strategy for the fleet, he wasn’t even entirely clear on what Thrawn actually _did_ on Exegol. He may have wanted to point out that, these days, he felt as much like a Chiss as he did an Imperial. Yeah, okay, he may have wanted to point out all of those things—but he said none of them. Instead, he said, merely, in Cheunh, in the clearest, steadiest voice he could manage, “It has been my honor to have served. May warrior’s fortune be with you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn nodded, solemn. “And you, Eli Vanto,” he replied in Basic. Their gazes were locked. For a moment, Thrawn almost looked like he wanted to reach out and embrace Eli, and Eli realized with a jolt that he wanted that too. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. It was impossible anyway: They were only holoproj images to one another.

At least Eli would be able to watch the live feed. He would be witness to this. For better or for worse.

“We are ready,” one of Palpatine’s attendants announced over the _Obfuscator_ ’s local comlink.

“Excellent.” Thrawn gestured to the lieutenant seated in front of the command deck’s weapons control console. “Acquire target.”

The lieutenant’s fingers flew over the console buttons. There was a beep of confirmation from the computer. “Target acquired,” the lieutenant said.

They’d selected a large asteroid adrift in the field surrounding Exegol. Although it was the size and density of some small habitable planets, its destruction would be of no consequence and, therefore, unlikely to be noticed by an enemy in event of either success or failure. “Excellent,” Thrawn said again. “Prepare to fire on my mark in three…”

Sounds of hollow, haunted chanting. The attendants were attempting to influence the kyber crystals in the laser-focusing arrays.

“…two…”

The high-pitched hum of power being diverted from the ship’s main reactor drowned out the chanting.

“…one…”

Thrawn’s shoulder squared almost imperceptibly. He was bracing himself, Eli knew, not that any of it would matter. A strong stance wouldn’t save him. Eli took a deep breath and held it.

“… _fire_!”

There was a blinding flash of light over the video feed. Nothing over audio. The laser beam emitted from the main cannon was strangely soundless, and the attendants’ chanting had fallen into silence as well. Eli watched Thrawn’s lips parting in anticipation. He almost looked like he was enjoying this.

One second passed. Then two. And three. Four.

“Confirmation: Target has been destroyed,” the lieutenant at the control console said.

The crew on the command deck burst into clapping and cheers. Thrawn’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Is the weapon intact and stable, Mistress?” he asked.

“We believe so,” Palpatine’s attendant replied via comlink.

Eli exhaled, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding the whole time in a sudden, forceful gush. It’d worked. Their crazy, improbable scheme had worked. “That was a magnificent demonstration. Many congratulations, my friend—you’ve done it,” he said.

“No, _we_ _’ve_ done it,” Thrawn replied. “Together.”


	10. Chapter 10

Any other commander would have flown his ship straight home for some well-deserved accolades and celebration. But in the end, of course, Thrawn was Thrawn, and Thrawn was already tackling the next problem, exploring the next set of questions which needed to be answered.

Could the rest of the fleet’s weapons be “tuned” in the same manner as the _Obfuscator_ ’s? Evidently so—Palpatine’s attendants were working around the clock to get each destroyer’s main cannon into full operation. Eli couldn’t help but worry that they might overwork themselves and make a costly error, but the attendants dismissed his concerns. Actually, if he were honest, they mostly ignored him when he tried to speak with them. Some things never changed. If anything was to be the downfall of such powerful beings, Eli reflected, it would be their arrogance and overconfidence.

He understood the urgency, though. The New Republic was tearing itself apart at the seams, and the galaxy needed a strong leader now more than ever.

Fortunately, the “tuning” of the kyber crystals seemed to be permanent…inasmuch as anything was ever truly a permanent state of affairs. Life meant change, as the saying went. Long story short, _Obfuscator_ ’s weapon appeared to be stable, and the next time it was test-fired, again only its target was destroyed. This meant the attendants would not have to become a permanent part of the ship’s crew and could go back to their creepy, crumbling ruins—thank the Gods for small blessings. He respected them greatly, no question, but he didn’t think they’d ever fit in with the organizational culture of a Star Destroyer.

As for Eli himself, well, he’d officially come out of retirement. For his contributions to the fleet’s weapons systems, he’d received a decoration from the Emperor himself. (Emperor Palpatine had been unable to attend the commendation ceremony in person—ill health, Eli had been told, and who was he to wonder at that excuse? The ceremony had been a moving experience nevertheless.) Eli had also been made Grand Admiral. This meant that, for the first time in his life, he was not Thrawn’s subordinate. He was working alongside Thrawn as an _equal_.

“The latest status reports have been submitted. As of today, sixteen percent of the Star Destroyers’ superweapons have been tuned,” Eli noted. “The attendants anticipate that, at their current rate, they should reach one-hundred percent by the end of the year.”

“Excellent.” Thrawn’s datapad screen flashed as he inspected one of the reports. He was still capable of consuming complex information faster than anyone else Eli had ever known.

“And after that has been accomplished? What’s next for us?” Eli asked. Another officer might not have been inclined to concern himself about the future. One step at a time, that officer might say. We’ll worry about the future when it arrives.

Eli was not that officer, and neither was Thrawn. Thrawn wasn’t only concerning himself with step two. He was also working on steps three, four, five, and beyond, both anticipating problems and developing possible solutions that others would not have the complexity of mind to even begin to conceive.

But for the moment, Thrawn was being less than forthcoming. “Next, we wait for the rest of the players to get into the correct positions. Victory will not depend upon our actions alone.”

“I see.” Eli sighed and poured himself another glass of water. He and Thrawn were sitting in Eli’s modest private quarters. He’d been offered a somewhat larger room after his promotion; in the end, however, he’d decided he didn’t need or want it. Besides, it was chilly, and the chill made his joints ache. So he’d kept the guest room. “When do you think that might happen?”

“Patience, Grand Admiral Vanto.”

Eli knew he would get no more from Thrawn. Obligingly, he dropped the question and switched to something different, something that had been secretly nagging him for quite awhile. “When did you learn the lyrics of the song I tried to play on the _dukk’quist_?”

Thrawn did not seem thrown the least off-balance by Eli’s abrupt change of subject. He put the datapad aside and settled back into his chair. The ghost of a smile seemed to flit over his lips. “I researched the song shortly after you first performed it. I was curious. It’s a handsome piece and though the sentiments are deceptively simple, I believe there to be a profound message beneath it all, waiting to be uncovered.”

Ah yes, Thrawn and his art criticism. It’d been too long. Eli scratched his chin, intrigued. This was, after all, _his_ boyhood culture to which Thrawn was referring. Remembering was nostalgic. “The song is sung from the point of view of an early hyperspace explorer. His lover wishes to go with him. But he does not have the resources to bring her with him on his first outing, so he promises her that he won’t go too far, and that next time, they’ll go on an adventure to the furthest reaches of uncharted space together. The song doesn’t reveal whether or not he ever returns…or whether or not he keeps his promise. I suppose it’s meant to be sad.”

“The lyrics’ tragical aspects weren’t what primarily interested me, though,” Thrawn said. He was going to work himself into one of his ecstasies of erudite explanation, Eli could tell. Life may be change, but some things never did. “They speak of an explorer, but the mysteries of the hyperspace frontier are not the song’s subject. Space is, if anything, the antagonist to the explorer’s protagonist. The song’s true subject is the lover. The lover is deemed more important than success in unraveling all the mysteries of the universe. From this I concluded that your song was produced by a people who value one another above all else.”

Eli laughed nervously. He’d never thought about the Lysatran folk song like that before, but he couldn’t say Thrawn was wrong. “All that from a bit of music!”

Thrawn did not laugh along with him. His expression remained serious. “Indeed. The song was how I knew that you would come without fail when I called for you. You were right to ask me to share an aspect of Chiss culture with you. The combination of your culture with mine is what ultimately led us to this breakthrough. I—and the fleet—could not have fixed the superweapons without your insight.”

It was a nice compliment, and Eli was more than happy to take it. A pleasant, buzzy heat settled into his chest. He scratched self-consciously behind his ear.

_🎵 No, dear heart, I won’t wander far._

_🎵 And when I return…_

_🎵 I will fly you across the stars._

END


End file.
